


Just a Memory

by tinknevertalks



Series: Fictober 2018 [12]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Domme!Helen Magnus, Established Relationship, F/M, Mentions of past BDSM scenes, established D/s relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks
Summary: A quick moment of introspection for Nikola.





	Just a Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Satin and Wool](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878811) by [tinknevertalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks). 



> So hopefully you've noticed the rating. There's no smut, but this is only a glimpse of their lives together. Anyhoo...
> 
> Prompt: Who could do this?

There was something elegant about the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin, his chest bare, trousers slung low on his hips. His hands were bound above his head, his toes barely touching the floor. Still, he smiled. “Who could do this?” he mused aloud, knowing exactly who had tied him in this precarious position, the one person he could trust enough so he would not fight against the bindings.

The clicking of stilettos on concrete floor echoed around him, an odd sybillant noise weaving in and out with each step his captor took. Jasmine enveloped him, blanketing his sense of smell. Underneath it, he could smell her, the scent that was uniquely Helen - this excited her as it did him. Each step brought her closer, and left her squarely behind him. Every breath butterflied against his shoulder blades. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than for her to kiss the skin he knew she would abuse.

Something cool trailed down his spine, a whisper of leather following in its wake. Nikola’s knees went weak. This was his favourite method of torture, one she had come to slowly. Her remit was to do no harm, to heal, and help. He could only imagine the fascination in her eyes as she worked his back with the leather knots, watching his skin rend and knit, listening for the moment his breath would hitch. She’d purr his name and he’d beg for more of the lash.

He’d always beg, sobbing and broken and whole.

Then, only then, when she knew he’d had what he’d needed, would she let him down, gently. Her movements would be slow, measured, as she made sure that he really was ok, that she hadn’t truly broken him as she checked his back, rubbed his shoulders, murmured kind words into his hair.

But that was a memory.

In the here and now, her tongue trailed up his spine. With reverence, a kiss was bestowed on the back of his neck as the handle of the flogger stayed firmly in her hand. Her other hand laid against his heart, her nails gently brushing his chest. He calmed his breathing, enjoying the sensation of her smiling against his skin, the leather tails of the cat brushing his trouser leg.

Here it came, that slow intake of breath, the moment where they stood at the precipice and only she had a parachute. She’d keep him safe as they fell and floated, of that he had no doubt. In her measured, English tones, she asks, “Shall we begin?”


End file.
